


Talk Dirty to Me

by tenscupcake



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Car Sex, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 05:33:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2138868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenscupcake/pseuds/tenscupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose has a few surprises for the Doctor when they go out for lunch on his first day working at Torchwood... and never make it out of the car park.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk Dirty to Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is another (mostly) PWP with a healthy dose of marshmallow fluff tossed in. In all honesty, I am overwhelmed with the number of WIPs I have right now but this fic would NOT leave my brain alone until I finished it. Also, this is a bit outside my comfort zone, which you will quickly see if you know me at all, lmao. ~~Clearly I've been watching too much SDOACG.~~ There *might* be a sequel.

“Want to get some lunch?”

The Doctor looks up eagerly from the mess on the bench top, peering over the rims of his glasses to find Rose peeking her head through the door across the room.

“Yeah, brilliant!” He beams at her. “I need a break, actually.” He quickly pulls some Parafilm over assorted vials of colored liquids, tosses a melted pair of nitrile gloves in the trash can, and clears some lingering pipet tips into the biohazard waste bin.

“How’s your day going?” she asks, stepping fully into the lab. He’d forgotten she dressed fancier than usual today, as she had some important presentation to give that morning. It’s a three-piece transformed in her own way – her black skirt flowing and silky, ending just above her knees, her white oxford unbuttoned down her collarbone, the black blazer form-fitting at her waist and shoulders, tall and shiny black heels completing the ensemble, and her hair’s tied up in an intricate style. She’s staggeringly beautiful. In a professional way, of course.

“Good, yeah, good,” he lies, taking off his gloves and shedding his blue, flame-retardant lab coat to throw it over his hook on the wall. It’s been a rough first day working at Torchwood. They make him wear the hot, itchy lab coat that constrains his arm movements and gloves that trap too much sweat on his still freshly human hands, tell him things he can’t do and make him sign a log whenever he needs to use corrosives or flammables or biohazards. And everyone in the lab’s always watching him, warning him to ‘watch out when he disconnects that wire’ or to ‘be careful pouring that without a funnel,’ or ‘you should really wear some safety glasses instead of those.’ Like he doesn’t have eight and a half centuries more experience than even the oldest physicists and engineers in the department.

“Are you lying?” Well, she has always seen right through him, but his petty concerns don’t matter right now.

“No, ‘course not!” he insists. “More importantly, tell me how that meeting went. Did you knock ‘em dead?” He gives her a quick hug that doesn’t linger as he pours extra excitement into his inquiry.

“It went well, yeah.” She chuckles a bit at his choice of words. “I think we’ll end up getting that funding for the new facility, after all.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic! I never doubted you, Rose, knew you had no reason to be nervous.” He threads his fingers through hers as he smiles again, all teeth and tongue and crinkly eyes. “Be back in a tick, just going out for lunch,” he addresses the remaining occupants of the lab, and they half-shout their responses over the machines they’re working over. From ‘see ya’ to ‘yeah’ to grumbles of something he can’t even make out. He doesn’t let it bother him, much; figures they’re just jealous that they’re not the ones leaving for lunch with Rose Tyler.

“Thanks, Doctor,” she acknowledges his compliments a bit delayed as the door to the research and development lab closes behind them, squeezing his hand.

“Of course! Tell me more about it. Who was there, what they looked like, what sort of questions they asked you.” He doesn’t want to disappoint her by complaining about all the things he already doesn’t like about his new, proper job, and he’d much rather listen to her talk about what he’s sure was a marvelous presentation of her brilliance and people skills.

She tells him as many details as he can wring out of her as they take the lift up to the ground floor from the underground levels (yes, he’s been shoved down in a basement. Him, in a room with no windows to the outside world!), and make their way to the wall of glass doors leading outside. But before too long she runs out of details to give away about it, and though it’s just him lightly swinging their joined hands and the clack of her heels on the sidewalk, he feels right. More comfortable than he has since their hands parted this morning, with a quick peck on the cheek as she went off to her office upstairs, bidding him good luck with a dazzling smile as she got in the lift without him. He isn’t sure how he’s going to handle this every day, being apart from Rose for four hours at a time. They’d spent the first two weeks of their time in this universe completely inseparable, trudging through the initial crying and shouting and hugging until they slowly gave way to laughing and talking and making love and he couldn’t get seem enough, regardless of what they were doing.

But that was all he got before Rose had made up her mind to head back to work, having become a bit restless without a job to do and impatient awaiting the growth of their baby TARDIS. Somehow she’d convinced him he wanted a proper job, too, and easily found him a position as a research associate in the lab several floors down.

“So, you want to walk or drive?” he asks to break the short silence.

“Let’s drive, not sure I can handle another long walk in these.” She holds her leg out slightly to indicate the undoubtedly pain-inducing heels.

She asks him more about his first few hours of work and he hedges and gives vague answers, because the truth is most everything he’d tried had gone wrong today and no one in the lab seems to like him much. At least, not as much as people normally seem to when they meet him.

“Well, I was working on two things, really,” he finally gives in as they clamber into opposite sides of Rose’s jet black, shiny Lexus, that her dad had, apparently, simply _insisted_ on. It still smells like a new car and the leather still smells fresh and creaks every time he fidgets in his seat (which is often). “I was helping this bloke Andy work on an antidote for the berserker pendant, that can reverse the effects if it’s used within four hours. He was only testing it only on human skin cell cultures, but when I told him the mutation’s involved with insertions to chromosomal DNA and that we should start by first doing a series of extractions and running PCR on contaminated...” He trails off as he realizes Rose hasn’t taken them out of the parking structure.

“Hang on, where are we going?” he asks, noting that they’ve simple moved from the second to the third, nearly empty floor of the parking structure rather than outside of it to the main road. She’s already pulled into a space far from each of the handful of cars scattered on the top level, and shuts off the ignition as she answers.

“Y’know what we should do for lunch?” she says, quiet and sultry and he gulps as he scrambles for his answer.

“Uhm… I don’t know! Pizza, Chinese, fish ‘n’ chips, maybe that sandwich place we tried last week – ” Other suggestions are lost on his tongue as she scrambles over the center compartment and the gearshift, maneuvering in ways that mesmerize him until she slides onto his seat and into his lap, straddling him easily. She certainly can make a point without words.

“That place wasn’t that good, was it?” she asks, smirking as her eyes flash him _that_ look, the one she’s always reserved for when they’re alone and oh, this is not going to be good if they ever want to get to lunch.

“Sh – sure it was.” He nods, swallowing hard as her hands wrap around his neck and she settles herself in, his breath catching in his throat as she wriggles against him. She lowers her chest against his on the slight slant of the seat, fingertips on the short hairs at the back of his neck sending shivers down his arms.

“’m not very hungry,” she whispers, breath hot on his lips, glaring black pupils burning holes into his between her thick lashes. She only gives him a second before she closes in, mouth descending on his parted lips with the gentle urgency she’s so proficient in; it’s messy and there’s tongues but it’s slow and sensual, promising indulgence in the immediate future. His head’s spinning from the flavors, cherry lip balm and a hint of spearmint mingling with her natural taste dizzyingly. He has to stop her before this gets out of hand.

“I – I _am_ , actually.” The words race out of his mouth, breathy and stuttering. He really is; his stomach was growling the entire last hour but it’s not the real reason he’s protesting her at the moment.

“Doctor, please,” she breathes against his cheek, a quiet whine of desperation, and they’ve always been two words he can’t refuse but now…. Now, he glances down to see her skirt riding up her thighs, as she leans harder against him, nearly revealing herself to him right then, and he’s nearly hopeless.

Her hands glide up into his hair and she presses their mouths together again when he makes no response, feather-light pressure of her lips as they brush deliciously against his own. But like she always does, she increases the passion just before he does, drawing his bottom lip into her mouth and nibbling lightly as her tongue traces along the soft pink flesh, tasting. He moans into her mouth in a daze and she repeats the technique with his top lip until his hands are gripping her waist, unable to resist touching her.

“What if someone comes up here?” he gasps, pushing with his hands on her hips reluctantly. Can they really have a shag in the car park where they _work_? His mind’s shying away from the idea but everywhere else in his body just wants to touch her, feel naked skin beneath his hands and taste her with his tongue and hear the sounds she makes when she comes apart at his touch.

“The windows are tinted.” More caresses, nips, tastes of her lips and tongue and teeth while her fingertips are circling and massaging his scalp and he’s really losing it, growing hard beneath her and forgetting they’d even gone into work today while his hands reach under her shirt to reach her hot, bared skin instead of the scratchy fabric of the suit… The suit!

“We’re still in our work clothes,” he exclaims, too loud in the heated car with only two sets of heavy breathing to compete with.

“So?” She’s unbuttoning his light blue oxford (he hadn’t worn a blazer today, or a tie, for that matter, one of Rose’s ideas) with skillful speed.

“We’ll mess them up,” he insists.

“We’ve got condoms.” Her mouth descends on his neck, leaving hot, lingering and messy kisses on his throat, under his ear, his collarbone. They can’t, now’s not… the right time… it’s… work and… stained clothes and… they could… get caught… Her teeth latch on to the skin where his neck meets his shoulder and sucks, tickling his skin with her tongue to counteract the mild throb as she marks him as hers beneath the collar of his shirt. A curse falls from his lips, he _is_ hers and he _wants_ her to claim him because he’s going to be hers for the rest of his life, and he still can’t believe it and suddenly it’s completely ridiculous to even consider turning her down.

He whispers her name as he pulls her up to meet his lips again with an almost pathetic moan, yielding to whatever she wants, his hands sliding further up her shirt until he can massage her breasts even through the lacy fabric trying to stop him.

“Was thinkin’ about you all morning,” she breathes between fierce kisses, and he groans appreciatively, heat and excitement flooding through him at the thought that she was craving his affection after only a handful of hours apart. Of course, he was, too but he didn’t want to admit it first.

“What were you thinking about?” He wants to know exactly, maybe how explicit her thoughts were, what he was doing or they were, so he can give it to her, whatever she wants. He’s at her service now, given up on his resolve not to concede to indecency in a public place.

“Your lips,” she whispers, peppering them with soft kisses and earning a soft hum of approval from his throat.

“Running my fingers through your hair.” She does this again, grazing her nails beneath the thick strands to send a wave of shivers down his spine as she musses up the mane he’d artfully styled this morning.

“Your tongue.” With another kiss she takes his tongue between her teeth, sucking lightly along it in what feels like exactly the same way she would work over his now very hard length between them, and when she releases him he’s mush in her hands. “Tasting me.” Another languid, sensual kiss as her hands work at unfastening what’s left of his shirt. “Making me come.” Those words whispered near his ear make his hips squirm underneath her, his now throbbing erection brushing against her center nearly sending him over the edge right then.

“God, yes,” he groans as he leans into her neck, tongue snaking out to taste the soft, warm skin there, salty with their heat and reminiscent of the coconut in her shampoo. His hands come back from under her shirt to bunch up her skirt, moving the fabric up and off her legs until it’s over her hips and his fingers detect no further fabric against her naked skin. Knickerless, the seductive little minx.

She’s pressing herself against him now that she’s exposed, must be better without trousers like his in the way, he imagines, but he doesn’t just want the little sighs she’s making against his lips now – he wants her to lose control. His hand slides between their bodies and hisses with delight as he slips a couple digits between her folds, searing hot and dripping down his fingers. He also realizes she’s rubbed some of herself on the front of his black trousers but he can’t remember why he should care. She arches as she calls his name, breaking their kiss, hands roaming over his chest as her head falls back, exposing the column of her throat. He presses slow, hungry kisses there, too, relishing the way the skin vibrates with her sounds each time his fingers graze over her clit.

“Doctor,” she calls again just as his tongue swirls over her collarbone, but he doesn’t stop. “Inside me. Want to feel you,” she gasps between his slow kisses across her chest and he wants it too, he wants it badly but he also just wants to rip off this bloody work suit, taste every inch of those soft rounds of flesh and tease her nipples with his tongue and suck softly on the silky skin between his teeth.

“Please. Need you,” she pleads with him again and it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, those desperate whispers preceding a tug of her hand on his wrist. He gives in and she fumbles at his fly angrily enough that it’s open in only seconds. To her dismay, he did bother with an undergarment this morning but he helps her wrest aside the necessary bits of clothing until he springs free and she takes him in hand eagerly.

He still doesn’t understand it, not fully. How her hand can feel so vastly different than his own used to, on countless lonely showers in his en suite wishing Rose was under the water with him, late sleepless nights in his cold, half-empty bed kicking himself for not inviting Rose in it with him. Her fingers close around him, smaller than his but more delicate and much more lovely, her palm smooth as it cradles the sensitive flesh. The damp warmth of her hand’s a perfect match for what’s in its tender grasp and she strokes him while he muffles his groans in her shoulder. It’s an unhurried, pleasant tugging that’s worlds more wonderful than the sloppy jerks of his own fist, when it had no choice but to impatiently work away at frustration and unresolved tension.

Such is her expertise, her power over him, he doesn’t notice any of the movements that put the condom in her hands, or unwrap the foil for that matter, only notices any change at all when her hand lifts away only momentarily and he practically growls with disappointment. She quiets his grumbling with her lips as she rolls the stretchy polymer over his length (too many gloves for one day, if anyone asks).

He doesn’t have time to prepare himself before she’s readjusting, shimmying her torso closer to his, her knees sinking away from his sides in anticipation. And then she’s wrapping him in her slick heat, hugging him tightly in an embrace that extends slowly him from tip to base, their cries of relief a melody to his ears as they pierce the air, thick with combined body heat and swelling arousal.

“Rose,” he sighs her name in devotion as she clenches around him, acclimating to him, and trails wet kisses down her neck again as she starts to move. It’s a slow dance on his lap, the steady and fluid rocks of her body against his, and he’s entranced by the way her hips can move with such lithe grace beneath his hands while she’s driving him mad with the slow thrusts onto his cock. She’s the only music he needs because it’s a siren’s song every time his name falls from her lips, a symphony when her lovely sighs duet with the low grumbles in his chest.

“You feel so good.” She’s out of breath and it may be the hormones talking, maybe a bit cliché, but it’s a melody to his ears and he groans deeply in agreement, fearing he’ll only ruin the moment with his inarticulate gob. “Thought about this the entire meeting,” she gasps, hands gripping his shoulders. “Couldn’t wait to get you inside me.” He almost comes prematurely, like a teenaged boy again, surprised but mercilessly aroused by her choice of language.

“Missed you so much,” he breaths against her pulse point, bucking his hips up to meet her, and it’s not nearly as sexy as when she talks to him but it’s the best he can think of on the spot and it’s the truth. They just shagged the night before but they had to skip what had become their usual morning romp because of work, and he guesses they’ll have to plan to wake up earlier to allow time for that very important sunrise session from now on.

His hands work open her blouse as his tongue is met with its collar, needing to see more and feel more, the sweet and salty taste of the smooth skin across her chest. Her knees find leverage against the back of the seat, taking him in faster and deeper while her hands press into his chest, his single heart thrashing wildly beneath her palms. Even with the speed and desperation there’s elegance in the way she moves, her curves translating to her rhythm and it’s so much better than when he’s in control, all messy hard lines and rough jerks of his hips.

His nose burrows between her breasts as he finally frees them, tasting a line up and down her cleavage as she moves her body under his tongue. Pulling back crudely on the fabric of her bra, he reveals one of her breasts fully to him and he lavishes it with his lips, careful to avoid teeth as she’s far from still around his mouth. She moans her gratitude and her hands slip from his chest to grab at his hair, holding his mouth against her for the time being while continues to rock against him. Damn it, it’s always her beautiful sounds that do him in, push him over the edge before she’s ready.

“Rose,” he grounds out, his lips releasing her breast and trailing up to her neck once more. “I’m – I’m close, I’m really… so – ” He tries to think of anything else, all the experiments going wrong and all the restrictions in the lab and reasons why his coworkers don’t like him yet, but Rose’s voice calls out for him again.

“Touch me.” He obeys immediately, his fingers finding their way between her wet folds even as she moves, swiping over her clit in messy circles. He can hear her crescendo begin but he wishes he could feel it, know for certain how much longer she needs. Her hands grab at the seat behind him to propel herself ever faster and he can’t hold on any longer, the heat throbbing in his cock is radiating through his body, shivers of pleasure trickling up his spine and down to his toes. His fingertips press quick, firm circles over the slick bundle of nerves as he fights off his climax with the last of his energy.

“Come on, Rose,” he whispers, trying for the same quiet seduction she’s perfected and not quite achieving it. But maybe it’s all she’s wanted, for him to say something in return, because she’s crying out his name again before biting down on his shoulder; her walls spasm around his aching length coax him to let go, the rhythmic squeezes tipping him over. His peak washes through him as he answers with her name, repeating it like a frantic prayer, every nerve ending bursts into flames as he releases inside her, shuddering beneath her and jerking his hips to match her less refined movements as he chases the pleasure.

Slowly they still and quiet save for their labored breathing, and she’s limp and exhausted against him, her forehead fallen onto the headrest next to his. He presses languid kisses against the side of her neck until she’s ready to kiss him back, humming with satisfaction even as he feels himself soften inside her warmth. She laughs at the tiny vibrations against her skin and he meets her as she lifts her head, capturing her lips in a lazy, tender kiss, both their mouths lethargic from shared bliss.

Even after something as mind-blowing as Rose shagging him in the leather seat of her brand-new car, he can’t seem to stop kissing her. Even when she tries to push away he clings onto her, arms wrapping around her back as he growls playfully and smiles into their kiss, pouring every ounce of affection he has left into his lips.

When he finally lets her go, her lips are dark pink and swollen, cheeks flushed, and he can’t help be gratified it’s because of him. Then, get an even more primal thrill on seeing the mark he’s left on her chest and buttons up her shirt, and thankfully the last button sheathes the white fabric over the smoking gun of their lunchtime shenanigans.

“Don’t worry, you’re covered, too.” Her fingers work the buttons of his shirt closed with a sly smile, hooded eyes roaming back and forth between her task and the base of his neck, and he suddenly vividly remembers that she’d claimed him, as well.

“Blimey, ‘s hot in here,” she says when his shirt’s the way he had it buttoned this morning. Glancing to his left, she laughs at the sight of whatever’s out the window and he blanches, checking to see if they’ve been found out, but there’s nothing outside. Or rather, they can’t see anything because the window’s completely fogged up.

“Want to slide your hand down it for good measure?” he asks, chuckling both with her silvery laughter and at his own impressive popular culture reference.

“’M good, thanks.” She shakes her head.

“Hmm…” he eyes the clouded, damp window and suddenly sees a mint green canvas fit for his index finger. She watches as he trails it through the light layer of condensation, writing three words a bit sloppily with his less proficient, left human hand, the moisture making the glass squeak with each new letter.

_I love you._

He looks away from his ten-second masterpiece, gazing in her eyes as he waits for a response, but she doesn’t give it out loud. She bites her lip with a gleeful smile then turns to the window herself, pressing a different set of three words in her handwriting below his with her pinky finger.

_Quite right, too._

They share one last brief kiss and he knows the love and contentment in her eyes is a mirror for his; she doesn’t need to say it explicitly each time because now he knows. She’s told him eleven times since they arrived in this universe, and each time he’s in heaven as the words are formed on her lips, dance through the air and swirl through his mind. And each time he says it back, never missing another opportunity.

“Although, I think we really need to work on your dirty talk.” She says it casually, like she’s expecting no reaction at all, effectively breaking him from his musings on expressions of emotion. She just brushes and pulls and pats at his hair with fixed concentration, trying to repair what he assumes is a dreadful, ruffled mess from her hands.

“Er… I’m sorry?” he chokes out despite himself.

“Later. I’m starved now, let’s go and get some proper food.” And just like that, he slips out of her as she climbs off of him, lending an explicit view as she scoots back into the driver’s seat with her skirt still hiked over her waist, and he realizes she’s still wearing what are probably designer heels. He’s still trying to process her comment and _might_ be panicking that he let her down in some way in the last fifteen minutes as she wriggles her skirt back to its rightful place, dancing about in her seat as she does. He still doesn’t respond so she reaches in front of him and hands him a handful of tissues out of the glove box.

“Just wrap it in here and leave it in the car, we can throw it out at home.” He quickly listens for lack of response of his tongue, peeling off their defense from a mess and balling it up in the tissues before stuffing himself back in his pants and zipping up his trousers.

“You don’t think I talk dirty enough?” he asks finally as she turns the ignition and the engine purrs to life.

“Uhm… no,” she admits, more delicately than before. “But don’t worry, I’ll teach you later.” She rolls down the windows to rid them of the steam of their encounter before pulling away. _Teach him?_ Well, that’s never gonna happen. He’s over nine hundred years old, for Time’s sake. He doesn’t want her to have to _teach_ him how to please her. Well, it seems like he’s good enough with hands and mouth and other bits of anatomy… he just used to be telepathic, that’s all. Of course saying dirty things out loud doesn’t come naturally to him. _Thinking_ them is what is innate, what’s instinct for him, because it used to work just as well as speaking them. But he can learn on his own. If indecent language is what Rose wants, it’s what she’ll get. Tonight.


End file.
